


Baptism by Fire

by Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hellblazer
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Dark Arts, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professors, Demons, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hell, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Newcastle Incident, Occult, Sigils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum
Summary: When the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor arrives in a dramatic fashion, Minerva McGonagall is incensed. She remembers John Constantine well from his school days - he was an arrogant troublemaker who was too smart for his own good. It doesn't look like much has changed over the years.What Minerva wants to know is why John has returned to Hogwarts in the first place. Dark secrets come to light as Minerva delves into John's murky past and has her first foray into the bizarre world of the Occult.Golden Quill Winner - Best Angst and Most Heartbreaking Moment





	1. The Death Pool

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta [ Nymphadorable ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphadorable/pseuds/Nymphadorable) for your help!

  

_September 1st, 1976_

The first feast of the new academic year was in full swing when John Constantine arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in what was described as the most elaborate entrance the school had seen in living memory.

The headmaster had just begun his welcome speech when it happened.

When Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet, the chattering students immediately fell silent. He beamed at the students, new and old, and spoke in a loud, clear voice for all to hear in the Great Hall.

“Welcome!” he greeted them cheerfully. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! I hope that you have all had a pleasant summer holiday. Before we begin our feast, I have an important announcement to make. I am pleased to introduce a new teacher to our ranks this year. Professor Constantine, who…” Dumbledore glanced around at the empty chair beside Minerva McGonagall and chuckled. “Incidentally has yet to arrive at the school, has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

Minerva glowered at the empty seat as though it had personally caused her offence. If there was one thing she hated more than losing a game of Quidditch, it was tardiness: she hadn’t even met this fellow yet and already she disliked him. Professor Slughorn chortled beside her, “Traditionally the longest anyone has remained in the post of Defence Master is a year, but I’ve never met anyone who didn’t last a single day. We may have a new record.”

“Well, he better be dead or dying in a ditch somewhere. There’s no excuse otherwise for missing the welcoming feast,” she quipped. Horace laughed heartily, his large midriff jiggling as he did so.

“You are wicked, Minerva,” he said appraisingly. “While we’re on the subject, will you be partaking in the death pool this year?”

“Certainly not,” she bristled. “Predicting the demise of our colleagues is as unprofessional as it is morbid.”

“Oh come now, it’s all in good fun!” he laughed, spearing his lamb chop with a sharp knife. “And it’s not as though all of them die; most of them quit before the year’s up.”

“Or leave due to some grievous injury,” she pointed out darkly. Slughorn shrugged carelessly.

“It is Defence the Dark Arts, my dear. Death and dismemberment - it comes with the territory.”

Suddenly screams of horror rang out across the hall. Minerva looked across the room, alarmed.

“What’s going on?” she asked sharply. Her query was quickly answered as several students and a couple of teachers pointed towards the ceiling, wide-eyed and gaping with fear. Minerva followed their eyeline and gasped. Beneath the starry night sky of the enchanted ceiling, a large portal had appeared. The vortex of swirling flames roared, drowning out the screams of the fleeing students who scarpered in all directions. Horace yelled and fell out of his seat, his rotund figure crashing to the floor and shaking the ground beneath their feet. Instinctively Minerva jumped to her feet and raised her wand, but Dumbledore held out his hand and bellowed, “Stand down, Minerva!”

She couldn’t help but draw the headmaster a fierce look, but she did as she was instructed.

“Are you mad?” she cried. “There’s a flaming portal to Merlin knows where directly below the majority of the student body! We need to protect them!”

“They are quite safe,” Dumbledore assured her. Without further explanation, he rose to his feet and strode towards the portal. The few remaining inhabitants of the Great Hall watched with morbid fascination as he stood under the fiery hellhole and looked up as though he were expecting to see something. What was he going to do?

An unearthly scream suddenly rang out through the hall and the remaining students dived for cover under the tables, covering their heads with their arms. The eerie voice made the hairs on the back of Minerva’s neck stand on end - it sounded as though someone was being tortured. In a flash, Dumbledore drew his wand and pointed it at the ground beneath the vortex and several plump purple cushions appeared out of thin air. Before Minerva could even think how ineffective that piece of magic would be in banishing the vortex, something - or more accurately, someone - fell through the portal and hit the pile of cushions with such force that several of them exploded, sending goose feathers in all directions.

In a blink of an eye, the portal had vanished and a stunned silence followed the sudden appearance of the stranger. Dumbledore pocketed his wand and stepped towards the mystery man sprawled across the pillows. Minerva didn’t immediately recognise him - his brown trench coat was filthy, his shirt and trousers equally so. His sandy blonde hair was long and matted, and his hands and face blackened with soot. Steam rose off of his body like he was a roast that had just been removed from the oven. For a moment Minerva wasn’t sure if the man was unconscious or dead, but then he groaned and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the headmaster with a dazed expression.

“Hello, John,” Dumbledore greeted him brightly. “You’re late.”


	2. An Unconventional Choice

“Chocolate Frog,” said Minerva brusquely. The gargoyle rolled its stony eyes before stepping aside for her.

“Someone’s in a foul mood,” it muttered.

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, stepping onto the ascending circular staircase. The new Defence professor had succeeded in unleashing chaos upon the school before the first day of term had even begun. The feast had ended abruptly after his dramatic (and in her opinion, ridiculous) entrance to the Great Hall, and she had needlessly wasted most of her evening rounding up missing students who had scattered throughout the castle, convinced that the school was under attack from You-Know-Who. It was a terrible start to the new year.

Once she had succeeded in getting her remaining students safely into bed, she had headed straight for the headmaster's office to discuss the matter further. As the ascending staircase came to a stop at the entrance door, she gave it a brisk knock and entered before waiting for a reply. Dumbledore sat in his usual spot at the handsome oak desk, stooped low as he shuffled through large piles of parchment. 

“Good evening, Minerva,” he said brightly without looking up from his paperwork. “Please, come in.”

It wasn’t unusual to find the headmaster awake at such a late hour; he often worked late into the night, yet he always rose early every morning to join the students and staff for breakfast before coming back to his office to continue catching up on the endless stream of paperwork and meetings. While she had always admired his work ethic, she had on occasion wondered if the man ever had time to sleep. She thought the position of headmaster at the school was an unenviable one and wasn’t sure if she would ever be fit for the job herself. But she wasn’t here to talk about that - she had more immediate problems to contend with. Minerva strode into the office and paused by the chair in front of his desk, but she did not sit down. Instead, she stood to her full height and gave him an accusatory look.

“John Constantine,” she hissed. “Really?”

Albus carefully rested his quill on the parchment he had been scribbling notes on before finally looking up at her, keeping his expression impassive.

“You don’t approve?” he asked lightly. 

“Of course not!” she snapped. “That boy is a danger unto himself and to others! Have you forgotten what he was like when he was a student here? Whatever possessed you, Albus?”

“He is no child, Minerva, he is a Hogwarts professor,” he reminded her, ignoring the jibe. “And what I remember is a talented young man who is more than competent enough to take the role of Defence Master. You disagree?”

“It isn’t a matter of competency,” she argued. “It is a matter of decency.”

“If you are referring to the incident that occurred during John’s final semester at school--” he began.

“Oh, you do remember that?” she mocked. 

“Vividly,” he replied flatly. “John and I discussed the matter at length before confirming his appointment. He has acknowledged that his actions were reckless and assured me that there will be no repeat of such an incident.”

“And you believe him?” she asked incredulously. She knew that she shouldn’t interrupt the headmaster when he spoke, but she couldn’t help herself. She was tired and irritable after spending half of the night rounding up her terrified students, and the headmaster hadn’t even batted an eyelid. Albus gave her a stern look over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 

“I do,” he replied simply. 

“Why?” she implored. “What has he said to convince you to ignore seven years of rule-breaking?”

“I believe everyone deserves a second chance, Minerva. This is John’s chance to do just that,” he replied evasively. Minerva’s eyes narrowed.

“You appointed me as Deputy Headmistress, yet you keep the hiring of new and questionable members of staff from me,” she fumed. “Why would you appoint me as your right-hand woman if you do not trust me?”

“I didn’t tell you because you’re having the precise reaction I knew you would,” he replied. “I am sorry to have been deceptive with you, Minerva, but if I had told you, you would have spent the rest of the summer holiday trying to persuade me to reconsider. I felt that keeping it to myself would save both of us a lot of time and stress. And you are mistaken - I do trust you.”

“Well, it certainly doesn’t feel like it,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “You’re not changing your mind on this, are you?”

“No,” he confirmed shortly. Minerva sighed and sank into the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk, defeated. She had expected as much when she had come to his office to discuss the matter, but she was disappointed nonetheless.

“While I appreciate your trepidations, we desperately needed someone to fill the position,” Dumbledore explained. “No-one else had accepted the offer, and you know as well as I do that he is more than qualified for the role. What was I to do?”

“Say no,” she retorted.

“And drop Defence the Dark Arts from the curriculum?” he challenged. 

“Well, no…” she mumbled.

“It is the single most important subject we teach here, especially now with Voldemort’s rise to power,” he continued. “We need to prepare our students for the dangers that they will inevitably face beyond the safety of these four walls. We cannot protect them forever, Minerva.”

“I know,” she sighed miserably. “I wish we could all of them here within the school; to keep them safe.”

“As do I,” he nodded mournfully. “John is an admittedly...unconventional choice, but he has invaluable skills that he can impart to the students. We must prepare them for the future.” 

The Wizarding War was in full swing - disappearances were now commonplace, and the climate of fear and paranoia was at its peak. Yet Hogwarts remained a place of safety for young witches and wizards across Britain; the last bastion against Voldemort and his secretive forces of evil. Minerva however, felt that adding John Constantine to the mix would only cause more trouble. Trouble seemed to follow him wherever he went. 

Now trouble had come back to Hogwarts, apparently reformed and on his best behaviour, but Minerva wasn’t convinced John had really changed. He had just entered the school through a flaming portal. Typical John, she thought irritably. She sighed and shook her head resignedly at the headmaster. 

“John is undeniably talented,” she grudgingly conceded. “One of the brightest students I ever taught. But his cleverness is eclipsed by his sheer arrogance. He was constantly breaking school rules--”

“I thought you had a soft spot for talented rulebreakers?” teased Albus. “Messers Black, Lupin and Potter come to mind…”

Minerva blushed, “That’s different.”

“Oh?” he asked lightly. “Is that because those rulebreakers are in your own house? Are you sure you wouldn’t have given John the same leeway if he had been in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin?”

“Are you accusing me of favouritism?” she asked hotly. Albus smiled at her.

“We’re all guilty of it from time to time,” he said sympathetically. “It’s been six years since John graduated from Hogwarts. I imagine he’s matured somewhat since he left.” 

“I won’t hold my breath,” she muttered. “Despite his obvious talents in the subject, I’m still surprised that you sought him out. I didn’t realise we were struggling so much to find suitable candidates for the position.”

“I didn’t seek him out,” Albus admitted. Minerva gaped at him.

“You mean...surely he didn’t ask you for the job?”

“He did, as a matter of fact,” he confirmed. “I was as surprised as you when he turned up at my office over the summer.”

“Why on earth would he want the job?” she asked curiously. 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” he suggested. “Despite your misgivings, John is actually quite fond of you. He was asking about you when he came to inquire about the position.”

Minerva’s blush deepened, “He’s probably worried I’ll try and give him detentions regardless of his tenure.”

“Funnily enough he did mention that,” Albus chuckled. “I assured him that teaching staff cannot be given detention. He seemed rather disappointed to hear that.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. She had lost count the number of times John had served detention with her - more times than she cared to remember. His antics put James Potter and his friends to shame. Albus was shuffling through his paperwork again when he mentioned nonchalantly, “Of course, I’ll expect you’ll be keeping an eye on John while he’s here? Making sure he doesn’t get up to any of his old tricks?”

“Me?” she blanched. Dumbledore glanced up at her.

“Are you saying that you wouldn’t be keeping tabs on him regardless?” 

Minerva pursed her lips and said nothing. Albus’ smile widened and he turned his attention back to his papers.

“Excellent,” he said brightly. “I appreciate you acting as my eyes and ears, Minerva. If anything happens that gives you cause for concern…”

“Oh, believe me, you’ll be the first to know,” she assured him, rising to her feet. “I hope I’m wrong about him, Albus, but I still think you’re making a mistake bringing him into the castle.”

“Duly noted,” he replied without looking up from his paperwork. Taking that as her cue to leave, Minerva turned on her heel and marched out of the office, feeling more ill at ease than ever before.


	3. The Original Marauder Returns

After a restless few hours sleep, Minerva had dragged herself out of her bed to take her first lesson of the academic year. Normally she would have been extra vigilant in a classroom full of sixth year Slytherins and Gryffindors, but she was too distracted even to notice when Sirius Black, in a humorous effort to turn James Potter’s hair green, had accidentally vanished it completely. Rapturous laughter rang throughout the classroom as James shouted at Sirius, who was running around the classroom dodging missiles launched by his furious best friend.

It was most unlike her to be so distracted, but her thoughts kept returning to John Constantine time and time again. She remembered him well during his school days, he had been one of the most talented and frustrating students she had ever happened across. A naturally gifted wizard, no spell or potion ever presented a challenge to him. Perhaps that was part of the problem, she realised - he must have found school incredibly boring. It would explain why he had acted out so often - performing dangerous experiments in empty classrooms, going on excursions to the Forbidden Forest simply because he was told that it wasn’t allowed. Skipping lessons, getting into fights with other students...Merlin, she lost count the number of times she had given him detention for smoking in the corridors.

It hadn’t come as much of a surprise when John hadn’t returned for his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. He’d left at the first opportunity, and nobody had seen or heard from him since. Which is what made his sudden return after a six-year absence all the more curious to Minerva. What in Merlin’s beard was he doing back at a school that he had been so desperate to leave in the first place? And what had possessed Dumbledore to take him at his word and hire him?

Well, she knew Dumbledore believed that good lies in everyone and that second chances could reveal the best in people. He was a generous man - too generous, sometimes - she would have been more reluctant to welcome the reckless former student back into the fold, however talented he was. She mulled over Dumbledore’s words from the previous evening - would she have been as harsh on John if he had been a Gryffindor? She glanced up at James and Sirius, running around the classroom and sighed: no, she probably wouldn’t have.

Maybe she should take a leaf out of Dumbledore’s book and give the boy a chance. It had been six years since she had last seen or spoken to him. Then again, Dumbledore had asked her to keep tabs on John’s behaviour; clearly, he wasn’t completely blind to what he was capable of. Still, John had been in the castle for a few hours now and nothing untoward had happened - yet.

Minerva pulled a blank piece of parchment towards her and began to scribble down notes, oblivious to the chaos that reigned all around her. She found writing lists helped reduce her anxiety; it had been a coping mechanism she had picked up during her own school days and it had stuck with her ever since. She wanted to have a clear idea of what she was going to say to John, resolving to meet him after morning lessons had concluded. Thankfully, the students were too busy fooling around to take any notice of her, so she could write in relative peace. Well, most of them…

“Professor, I’ve completed today’s task.”

“Hmm?” Minerva looked up from her desk to find a stringy, pallid-looking boy looking expectantly at her.

“I’ve completed today’s task,” he repeated. “May I be excused from class early to go to the library?”

Minerva frowned at him, “You may leave, Mr. Snape, after you demonstrate to me what you have learned.”

Severus Snape drew his wand, pointed it at his own head and said, “Crinus Muto.”

In the blink of an eye his black shoulder-length hair became several shades lighter as it began to recede into his scalp. Within seconds his hair had transformed completely, no longer a dark curtain of greasy black hair, but short and sandy-blonde. Minerva fleetingly thought that it reminded her of John’s hair, but she quickly pushed that inappropriate comparison from her mind and gave Severus a curt nod.

“Very well, Mr. Snape, you may gather your things and spend the rest of the hour in the library.”

Severus tapped his wand to the side of his head and his hair turned back to normal. He quickly gathered his things and hurried for the classroom door, but not before Sirius shouted after him, “At least you still look better than Snivellus, James. Anything’s better than that greasy mess on top of his head.”

Severus ignored the chorus of laughter that followed him out of the classroom, slamming the door hard behind him without bothering to respond to the jibe. Minerva turned back to her notes and began scribbling again.

“Perhaps if you spent more time learning the spellwork instead of making witless remarks like that, Mr. Black, then you would also be permitted to leave the classroom early,” she pointed out.

She could practically feel Sirius’ eyes roll, but he knew better than to respond. She might have a soft spot for the boy, but she wasn’t adverse to handing out detentions if he kept pushing his luck. She looked over her notes again and nodded to herself in satisfaction. She and John both had a free period after lunch; she would meet him in the Great Hall, then head back to her office for a much-needed chat.

* * *

John didn’t come to the Great Hall for lunch that afternoon. In fact, from what the other staff members were saying, nobody had seen him since his dramatic arrival the night before.

“He didn’t even turn up to his first lesson this morning,” Slughorn informed her quietly so as not to be overheard.

“What?” she hissed incredulously. Slughorn nodded mournfully.

“Binns was passing through the classroom when he found the students all sitting there, still waiting for John to turn up,” he sighed. “If he keeps that up, Dumbledore will sack him, for sure. It’s a shame, really: I was hoping that he would at least last until the end of the week - I was sure I was in with a good shot of winning the dead pool this year…”

Minerva’s fork clattered onto her plate and she sprang to her feet. She had foolishly been considering forgiving John of all of his previous transgressions, had let herself hope that they could start things on a clean slate. But failing to turn up to his own classes on the first day...it was unforgivable in her eyes. Notes and composure all but forgotten, she strode from the Great Hall like a woman possessed, straight for his office.

When she reached his office on the second floor, she didn’t even bother knocking before entering. Throwing the door open she stepped inside, scanning the messy room for the absentee professor. Several cardboard boxes lay unopened across the otherwise bare office space. The only area which had been set up was the large writing desk at the back of the room in which John’s essential had been put in pride of place - an ashtray overflowing the cigarette butts, a half-empty bottle of Ogden’s Firewhisky, and a Muggle magazine with Rolling Stone written on the front cover. No books. No teaching equipment. Just booze and cigarettes.

“Bloody typical,” she muttered, drawing her wand. She marched towards the sleeping quarters, knowing fine well what she would find. Banging on the door to the bedroom, she bellowed, “John Constantine! You come out here this instant!”

She didn’t care if John was now one of her peers, she couldn’t help but speak to him like he was still one of her students. She banged her fist against the door again then paused when she heard a muffled voice call out.

“Alright! Alright, I’m coming. Keep your bloody shirt on…”

The bedroom door creaked open and a bleary, bloodshot eye peered out at her. The piercing blue eye widened in surprise as he recognised his visitor and the door opened fully to reveal his disheveled appearance. His five o’clock shadow aged his handsome features, but the cheeky grin spreading across his face made him look like a mischievous schoolboy.

“Minnie!” he said cheerfully. “It’s great to see you again, love. It’s been a while...what are you doing here at this hour?”

It took Minerva a few seconds to process everything in that single sentence that incensed her before she could respond. Her eyes narrowed and she spoke as calmly as possible through clenched teeth.

“It is the afternoon, John, and you will address me as Minerva or preferably, Professor McGonagall. And it may have escaped your notice but today is the first day of the new term; you missed your own lessons this morning. But given the state you’re in…” she looked him up and down, naked except for a pair of form-fitting boxers and drew him a disparaging look. “Perhaps it was better the students didn’t see you today.”

Or ever, she thought darkly.

“Is it?” he asked unconcernedly. He ran a hand through his thick, sandy-blonde hair making it stick out in all directions. “Bugger, I thought tomorrow was Monday.”

“Perhaps I should transfigure you into a calendar, then. That way, you might keep better track of your schedule,” she snipped. Instead of looking appropriately bashful, John grinned.

“You might be onto something there. I’ll uh...be out to see you in a couple minutes, yeah? Just need to get dressed…”

John closed the door on Minerva’s furious face, reappearing a few minutes later wearing a wrinkled white shirt and brown suit. Minerva stood by the small chair in front of his desk, her dark eyes following him as he shuffled into the office. He fumbled with a plain burgundy tie before sinking into the seat behind his desk.

“Drink?” he asked, nodding towards the bottle of Firewhisky. Minerva’s nostrils flared.

“No,” she replied shortly. John shrugged and proceeded to pour himself a sizeable measure into a crystal tumbler that he conjured from thin air. She opened her mouth to comment on it being too early to drink, and instead gaped in horror as another figure slipped out of John’s bedroom; a dark-haired girl in a party dress tried and failed to tip-toe unseen out of the office. She gave John a slight wave goodbye, then immediately lowered her hand and bowed her head as she met Minerva’s incredulous gaze. As the door to the office slammed shut, Minerva glowered at John.

“Who...” she hissed, accenting each word. “Was that?”

John shrugged, “Someone I met down the pub last night, I reckon.”

“You can’t even remember?” she asked, horrified.

“I had a lot to drink last night,” he acknowledged, taking a swig from his tumbler and grimacing at the taste. Minerva scrunched her nose in disgust.

“And that is going to help?” she asked sarcastically.

“Probably not,” he admitted, slamming the tumbler down on the desk. He flashed her a toothy grin and leaned back in his swivel chair, “So, how can I be of assistance to you? Doxy’s in the office you need seeing to?”

Minerva fixed him with a steely gaze. His relaxed demeanour only irritated her more.

“I want to know what you’re doing here at this school,” she challenged. John chuckled.

“No mess tins with you, eh Minnie? Always straight to the point.”

“Professor McGonagall,” she corrected him again sharply. “And you know me well enough that I always prefer to be direct, so let us be direct with one another.”

John stretched back in his swivel chair and rested his arms carelessly over his head, “Okay. Fire away.”

Minerva rose herself to her full height before she declared, “You are an arrogant, reckless show-off. You shirk the rules because you believe that they are beneath you, and have always been more concerned with proving how clever you are than following instructions; school property and student’s safety be damned. I don’t approve of you being here, and I think your appointment will be a detriment to this school and its students.”

Hurt streaked across John’s face, but he quickly covered it with a cheeky smile and a retort, “Streuth! You really like to go for the jugular, don’t you? Please, tell me how you really feel about me…”

“You obviously have no interest in teaching,” she said accusingly. “Otherwise you’d have the decency to at least turn up to this morning’s classes instead of sitting here half-cut reading Rolling Stone magazine.” John quickly stuffed the magazine into the top drawer of his desk out of sight, then proceeded to pour himself another drink. Minerva continued, unperturbed, “And from what I do know of you, you never did anything for anyone unless it benefitted you in some shape or form. So clearly you stand to gain something from taking this job. Whatever it is, it can’t be the money. Believe me, I know how little you’re getting paid. So, I want to know what it is that brought you here.”

“Why?” he asked roughly, all pretense of a smile and charm gone now. Minerva glowered at him.

“Because the sooner you get what you’re after, the sooner you’ll be out of this school.”

John considered her in silence for a few moments, perhaps trying to decide how honest to be with her. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Okay, you got me. There is something I want and I can only get it here at Hogwarts and nowhere else.”

Minerva waited with baited breath, “Well...what is it?”

“Knowledge,” he replied simply. When McGonagall gave him a withering look he rolled his eyes and explained, “The library has books that you can’t find anywhere else in the Muggle or Wizarding world. I asked Dumbledore for the job but I only agreed to take it on the condition that I had unrestricted access to the books in the library and the works he keeps in his private collection.”

“What type of books are you looking for?” she asked curiously. “What branch of magic?”

“Dark ones,” he replied mysteriously, wiggling his eyebrows. “Dangerous ones.”

“For what purpose?” she pressed on. John gave a hollow laugh.

“Believe me, you’re better not knowing,” he warned, snatching the packet of cigarettes off of his desk. “You still smoke?”

“I quit.”

John shrugged and flipped the lid open, then frowned when he realised that the packet was empty.

“You just don’t want to tell me because you know I won’t approve,” she argued.

“An astute observation,” he replied distractedly, patting himself down, looking for something. He opened the top drawer of his desk and exclaimed, “Ah-ha!” before pulling out his wand. He raised it into the air and cried, “Accio Silk Cut.”

A packet of cigarettes flew out of a rucksack from the corner of the room and soared through the air towards John’s outstretched hand. Before John could reach them, however, Minerva caught the packet, held it at arm's length and drew her own wand.

“Incendio,” she muttered. John cried out angrily as the small carton of cigarettes burst into flames.

“Oi! What are you playing at?” he yelled, jumping to his feet. He glared accusingly at Minerva, “That was my last bloody packet. I’ll need to go to Hogsmeade to buy more, now.”

“You have classes this afternoon!” she reminded him angrily.

“The students are welcome to join me if they like. Nothing wrong with going on a little field trip with their Professor. I’m joking!” he cried, laughing at the scandalised expression on Minerva’s face. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing you. I’m sorry.”

Minerva gave an exasperated sigh and sank into the seat next to her, “I’ve only been in your company a few minutes, John, and already I’m exhausted.”

John drew her a cheeky grin, “You’ve missed me, haven’t you?”

“Have I missed being on the alert for your high jinks every minute of the day? Certainly not,” she replied sarcastically. They glared at each other in silence for a few moments before John broke out into a wide grin and started to laugh. Even Minerva couldn’t help the smile teasing the corner of her thin lips. John had always been exasperating, but he was indisputably charming. Annoyingly so, in her opinion. Their banter had always played out much the same way during his school days - he would get into trouble, Minerva would chastise him and give him detention, but he would always end up making her laugh. He was impossible to stay angry at for long; his charm was what Minerva contrarily liked and disliked about him the most. She gave him a searching look, “Why are you here, John? Be honest with me.”

“I’ll be honest with you if you’re honest with me,” he offered. “How about we take turns about asking and answering each other's questions. Sound reasonable?”

Minerva took a moment to consider the offer before giving him a curt nod in agreement.

“Very well,” she sighed. “But no more of your cheek, John. I want straight answers out of you from now on.”

“Deal,” he nodded. “Okay, here’s my first question - how are you, Minnie?”

“Stressed,” she replied honestly. “Where have you been these last few years?”

“To Hell and back - literally,” he replied before asking. “Dumbledore asked you to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?”

“Of course he did,” she replied coolly. “Can you blame him?”

John shook his head. He didn’t look offended at the admission, “Given my track record, I expected as much. He must have been pretty desperate for someone to take the job if he gave it to me so easily.”

“So, why are you really here?” she implored. “Why did you ask for a job you obviously don’t want?”

“I’m here for the books. Really,” he replied sincerely as Minerva tsked at him. “There are books here that I can’t find anywhere else in the world. And before you ask, I’m not a hundred percent certain which books I’m looking for. I just know that if I’m to find what I need, it’ll be here. It has to be; I’ve searched everywhere else.”

“For what purpose?” she asked again. John hesitated. Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise - for the first time in the many years she had known John, he looked embarrassed. Ashamed, even.

“John…” she asked slowly. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?”

John gave a nervous laugh, “Nothing I can’t handle myself, love-- Professor.” He quickly corrected himself as Minerva drew him a dangerous look. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes, “Let’s just say that I got myself in a bit of bother when I was in Newcastle. I don’t want to get into the details but I hope to find a book that will help me umm...fix something I messed up.”

“I thought we were going to be honest with one another,” she reminded him. John’s evasiveness piqued her curiosity. What on earth was he up to this time?

“I did say that, didn’t I?” he grimaced. He sighed in resignation, “Fine, if you really want to know why I came back to Hogwarts, I’ll tell you. But you’re not going to like it.” A mischievous grin slowly spread across John’s face, “In fact...I’ll do one better than that - I’ll show you. Do you have any free periods tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’m available after three o’clock tomorrow,” she confirmed, curious to what he was proposing. John grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Brilliant! Come to my classroom tomorrow, I’ll have a little demonstration ready for you and my students. After that, I’ll explain everything.”

“Is this demonstration dangerous?” she asked sceptically.

“I wouldn’t be teaching my class properly if there wasn’t an element of danger involved,” he smirked. He rolled his eyes at Minerva’s worried expression, “It’ll be perfectly safe! Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Minerva frowned, “Is it really necessary to put on a display? Wouldn’t it be more convenient just to tell me now?”

“Nah, it’s easier just to show you what I’m after,” he argued. “And it’ll make for a pretty spectacular first lesson of the year. Killing two birds with one stone.”

Minerva sighed, “Very well. I shall attend this little demonstration of yours, but only on the condition that you promise to attend all of your classes from now on.”

John groaned, “Christ almighty, you’re busting my bollocks already and I only just got here!”

“I hope you won’t use such colourful language in front of students,” she warned.

“Most of my lessons will need to be conducted in silence, then,” he joked. He sighed resignedly and shrugged, “Fine. I’ll attend all of my lessons from now on. And I’ll mind my language.”

“And no smoking during lessons, either,” she added, pointing an accusatory finger at the overflowing ashtray. John clicked his fingers and the pile of cigarette butts and ash vanished.

“And no more bringing girls back to the school,” she continued, then quickly added, “Or boys. This is a place of learning, not a frat house.”

John laughed, “You’re determined to take all of the fun out of teaching aren’t you? What will you do if I break any of your rules - give me detention again?”

“Don’t think I won’t,” she warned.

“Is that a promise?” he asked silkily. She fixed her expression into one of steely disapproval.

“You keep your bad habits to yourself, John - and preferably away from the students,” she warned. “I’m willing to start things on a clean slate with you, but mark my words; if you bring harm to my students, I will remove your testes - without magic - and use your pitiful marbles in a game of Gobstones. Understood?”

John’s smile faltered and he swallowed hard, “Understood, Professor.”

“Excellent,” she said briskly, rising to her feet. “Now, as much as I enjoy sitting here chatting to you and ensuring that you stay out of trouble, I have classes to prepare for - as do you. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“It’s a date!” John called after her.

“It most certainly isn’t!” she cried over her shoulder, slamming the office door shut behind her.


	4. Master of Defence

All Minerva wanted was to have a single day in Hogwarts without some kind of drama taking place. Just one day of blissful monotony. She should have known better.

John caught up with her as she took her usual shortcut through the Quad on her way to breakfast the next morning. He gently bumped their shoulders together and gave her his dazzling smile.

“Morning, Minnie,” he said brightly. “You’re looking lovely, as always.”

“Good morning, Professor Constantine,” she stressed the words as a gentle reminder to him that he ought to greet her with the same title. She cast a furtive glance at his appearance, which remained slightly disheveled despite his best efforts to look more presentable. For some reason, he still wore a Muggle suit and tie while his robes hung loosely over his shoulders. He had his hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he sauntered alongside her, his one step matching two of her own.

“I see you’ve taken the time to shave and get a haircut,” she noted lightly.

“You noticed?” he asked, sounding pleased. He ran a hand over his smooth cheek and across his chin. His sandy-blonde hair was now styled in a neat crew-cut which Minerva thought he suited better than the straggly mess she’d seen the previous evening. As though reading her mind, he replied, “I figured I ought to have a more ‘professional’ hairstyle, now that I’m a professor and all. I thought I suited the long hair though, looked a bit like Sid Vicious.”

“I don’t know who that is, but he sounds wholly unpleasant,” she muttered. John nodded.

“Yeah, he’s a right knobhead,” he agreed. “I met him a couple years back when I was gigging with my band around the North East.”

Minerva’s eyes widened with surprise, “You were in a band?”

“I surely was,” he replied proudly, puffing up his chest. “Me and my mate Gary wrote all the songs. I was the lead singer and he was the lead guitarist.”

“I never took you for a singer,” she replied thoughtfully. “You should speak to Professor Flitwick if you’re interested in music. He took over from Professor Aldridge as Frog Choir Master when she retired a couple of years ago.”

John, however, didn’t look particularly keen, “Ehh, maybe not. The music our band played isn’t exactly compatible with the Frog Choir.”

“What genre of music did you play?” she asked interestedly.

“Punk rock.”

Minerva snorted, “I should have known.”

“Oi, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. I can sing you a couple of our old songs sometime if you like,” he offered, bumping their shoulders together again. Minerva tried to suppress the smile teasing the corner of her lips. It annoyed her how much she enjoyed his company.

“Perhaps,” she replied noncommittally. “So, what was the name of your band?”

“Mucous Membrane.”

“I beg your pardon?” she spluttered. John sniggered.

“We thought it was a cool name,” he replied innocently. “I thought The Sex Pistols sounded better, but some bugger beat me to it and Mucous Membrane was the next best thing.”

“Sounds like something Professor Sprout would find in her greenhouse,” she mused. Minerva frowned as she heard a commotion coming from the direction of the Clocktower Courtyard, then stopped dead in her tracks as she heard the familiar voice of James Potter, resident mischief-maker, shouting and laughing loudly.

“What’s the matter?” asked John. Without explanation, Minerva turned on her heel and hurried back in the direction of the Courtyard. What in Merlin’s beard was that boy up to now?

Before she even reached the Courtyard, the shouts of laughter had changed into yells of anger and an explosion as loud as a cannon rang out through the narrow stone corridors. Minerva drew her wand and broke out into a run. Whatever was going on, it didn’t sound good.

She turned the corner into the Courtyard and gaped at the chaotic scene before her. A large group of students stood in a circle, surrounding two people as a fireworks display of jinxes and counter-curses flew through the air. Minerva pushed her way to the front of the mob and saw to no surprise, James Potter and Severus Snape at the centre of the chaos, circling each other menacingly but warily. The hem of James’ robes were badly singed but he was laughing as he threw another curse at Severus, who only just managed to block it but staggered back a little at the sheer force of the spell.

Minerva shouted for the boys to stop this at once, but her voice was drowned out by the loud jeers and shouts of encouragement from the expectant crowd. Severus roughly wiped his bloody lip with the sleeve of his threadbare robes, his expression one of abject fury. He raised his wand to send another curse but was suddenly thrown into the air and landed hard on the ground, winded. At the same time, James was blasted off of his feet and thrown in the opposite direction, skidding across the wet ground. The jeers of the crowd quickly died away as Minerva stepped into the centre of the circle, her wand drawn.

“That is quite enough from both of you!” she shouted at the boys. She turned and glared at the lingering crowd of students, “Don’t you all have classes to attend?”

The students took that as their cue to leave and quickly dispersed, leaving Severus and James to deal with the fuming Transfiguration professor on their own. John stood to the side, watching the scene unfold with interest, but he didn’t intervene. Minerva pulled James to his feet and glowered at him.

“I expected better from you, Mr. Potter…”

“He started it, Professor!” James shouted, pointing accusingly at Severus who was struggling to his feet and brushing the dirt off of his old robes.

“I don’t care who started it. Even if Mr. Snape did instigate the fight, you shouldn’t have retaliated,” she countered. “Duelling is only permitted in the duelling club and during class demonstrations.”

“But--”

“I don’t want to hear it!” she snapped. “Detention, Mr. Potter. You too, Mr. Snape. And don’t roll your eyes at me, unless you want an extra week added onto your detention…”

After Minerva had read both boys the riot act and sent them on their way, she marched over to where John stood waiting for her.

“Honestly,” she huffed. “Those boys can’t go a single day without their ‘wands at dawn’ routine.”

“I take that they don’t get on that well?” asked John interestedly as they continued to walk towards the Great Hall. Minerva gave a humourless laugh.

“That is putting it mildly,” she said grimly. “Snape has always been at loggerheads with Potter and his friends. They’re almost as badly behaved as you were at school.”

“Almost?” he teased.

“You have an impressive history of misdeeds under your belt,” she acknowledged. “Not that that’s anything to be proud of.”

As they approached the teacher’s seating area in the Great Hall, John rushed forward and pulled a chair out for Minerva. She rolled her eyes at the gesture but took the seat nonetheless.

“Thank you, Professor Constantine,” she said politely.

“Merlin, when are you going to start calling me John?” he groaned, flopping into the seat next to her.

“When are you going to stop calling me Minnie?” she countered lightly. He smiled mischievously.

“Never,” he declared. They chatted a little more about John’s brief stint as lead singer of an unsuccessful punk rock band while they ate breakfast. But when Minerva inquired as to why the band had broken up, John’s smile had faltered and he had quickly steered the subject elsewhere.

“So, you’re still coming by my office today?” he asked as they left the Great Hall to take the first lessons of the day.

“I’ll be there,” she confirmed, pausing at the foot of the Grand Staircase. “Three o’clock sharp.”

“It’s a date, then!” he said loudly, sprinting up the stairs before she could answer him. He said it so loudly that a few students turned in their direction. Minerva blushed and shouted after him.

“It is not a date!”

John waved her off as he hurried up the Grand Staircase towards his classroom. Minerva watched him as he left, musing about his little jokes about going on dates with her, his comments about her appearance...the thought fleetingly crossed her mind that John had been flirting with her. She immediately chastised herself for even allowing such a foolish thought to enter her head in the first place. John was flirty, certainly. But was he flirting with her specifically? No. It was just in his nature to charm anyone he came across.

It was just one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of reasons not to like him, she reasoned. But if she didn’t like him so much, why was she spending so much of her free time with him? Dumbledore had asked her to keep tabs on John’s progress, but she certainly didn’t need to be looking in on his lessons or spend mealtimes together...

Giggling shook her from her revery and her sharp gaze fell on three Gryffindor students staring after John as he strode up the staircase two steps at a time. Minerva’s eyes narrowed and she stalked over to the trio.

“Ms. McKinnon,” she said sharply and the laughter immediately died. The short redheaded girl looked up guiltily at Minerva.

“Yes, Professor?” she replied in a small voice.

“Don’t you think it was time you girls got to class?” Minerva suggested lightly, but her expression remained stern. Marlene McKinnon blushed and nodded vigorously.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Well?” said Minerva expectantly, inclining her head. “Get going, then!”

The three girls scurried away in the direction of the dungeons, sniggering behind their hands. Minerva shook her head at them. John was popular with the girls - and quite a few boys - during his school days. It came as no surprise that students would develop crushes on him. She sighed heavily and stalked towards her own classroom. The only thing more dangerous and unpredictable than John Constantine was an infatuated schoolgirl. She’d best warn him to keep an eye out for chocolate gifts laced with love potion...

* * *

Minerva slinked up to John’s classroom just before three o’clock. She didn’t normally walk around Hogwarts in her cat-form during school hours, but she didn’t want to be too much a distraction during his lesson. The class of sixth-year students stood waiting for their new professor to arrive. When John turned up at three o’clock on the dot, he held the door open for the students and they began slowly filing into the classroom. Minerva snuck in just as John was about to close the door, brushing her tail against his leg to let him know she was there. He glanced down, surprised as the furry tail wrapped around his ankle and chuckled as she slipped unseen by anyone else under a desk at the back of the classroom, making herself comfortable for whatever show John had promised her.

As the students chatted and took their seats, John sauntered to the front of the class. Turning the face the students, they fell silent and he smiled.

“Good afternoon, class,” he greeted them brightly.

“Good afternoon, Professor Constantine,” the class replied in slow unison.

“What year are you lot in?” he asked. Minerva whipped her tail irritably - he should know this already. Merlin, he was as unorganised as he was arrogant…

A hand immediately shot into the air and Lily Evans spoke.

“We’re sixth years, sir,” she replied. “Gryffindors and Slytherins.”

“Slytherins,” he repeated, nodding in approval. “My old house. I’ll be expecting you lot to do your best in this class.”

Sirius Black, sitting in the back of the class with his friends, tsked disapprovingly and slumped low in his chair, looking irritable. Severus Snape, seated at the very front of the classroom, sat up a little straighter in his chair, listening intently. John began to pace back and forth in front of the students, treading on a threadbare rug that lay in front of his desk.

“So from what I gather you’ve covered the basics,” he began. “Your first three years of lessons should have taught you basic defence techniques against natural disasters and dark creatures which survive principally by attacking humans. Latterly, your professors should have concentrated on teaching you more complex counter-curses as well as beginning to teach you how to cast wordless and for some, wandless spells. Does that sound about right?”

A murmur of agreement rippled throughout the classroom. John nodded before continuing, “Very good. Well, today we’re going to do something a bit different. I’m going to introduce you to a branch of magic that most of you will be unfamiliar with - magic that your parents and most of your teachers don’t know much about, either. It is an ancient branch of magic, very powerful, and extremely dangerous.”

At those words, Sirius and his friends stopped passing notes to each other and began to pay attention. Severus leaned forward a little, soaking up every word that John said. Lily Evans scowled and crossed her arms, but listened closely. John came to a standstill and scanned the classroom with interest.

“Before I tell you any more about the magic we’ll be learning this year, I’d like to give you a little demonstration of the spells in practice. I will need some volunteers,” he said. He smirked as Sirius and James’ hands shot straight into the air. He beckoned them to come to the front of the class and told them to stand next to each other on the far right of the classroom. “What’s your names, lads?”

“James Potter, sir.”

“Sirius Black.”

“Black?” John asked interestedly. “Are you related to the Black sisters, by any chance?”

Sirius scowled and replied, “They’re my cousins...sir.”

“Andromeda was in my year at school,” he explained. His eyes fell on the maroon tie around Sirius’ neck, “And you’re a Gryffindor?”

“That’s right,” Sirius lifted his head up proudly. “First in my family.”

“A veritable black sheep,” he joked. “Well, I’m going to have you and Potter here engage in a little duel if you’re up for it?” Sirius and James drew their wands in unison and John sniggered, “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Turning back to the students he said, “I need one more volunteer for my demonstration.”

Fewer people raised their hands this time. Minerva supposed the prospect of facing off against Potter and Black wasn’t all that appealing. John’s gaze fell on Severus who still had his hand raised.

“You,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Severus Snape, sir,” he replied confidently. John smiled at him and asked him to stand on the threadbare rug in the centre of the room in front of the class, facing James and Sirius. John sat on top of Severus’ desk, looking excitable. Two against one? thought Minerva. She retracted her claws and growled - she didn’t like where this was going.

“Wands at the ready, face each other, bow and take positions,” John instructed. The boys glowered at each other and drew their wands, only giving the slightest of nods to each other. “On the count of three, cast your charms. One...two...three...go!”

“Levicorpus!”

Green light burst from the wands as all three boys shouted the same spell in unison. James and Sirius’ spell hurtled towards Severus, but just as the stream of light was about to hit him square in the chest, the spells rebounded back towards the two Gryffindors. James and Sirius yelled in surprise and anger as they were suddenly flipped upside down and suspended in mid-air. It was as though an invisible hook had hoisted them up by the ankle. The classroom erupted into laughter as Sirius and James flailed helplessly, their robes falling over their faces. Severus looked genuinely shocked at what had happened and looked towards John for instruction. John, however, just laughed and hopped off of the desk. He swished his wand through the air and James and Sirius landed in an undignified heap on the ground.

“Very good, lads! Very good, indeed,” he said appraisingly, helping James and Sirius to their feet. “The three of you can sit back down now...”

James and Sirius stalked back to their seats at the back of the classroom, looking mutinous, while Severus slipped back into his chair in the front row, looking immensely pleased with himself. John turned to face the class again.

“That was rather unexpected, wasn’t it?” he said jokingly. “So, does anyone have any idea what caused James and Sirius’ spells to rebound?”

For a few moments nobody raised their hand, then Remus Lupin carefully lifted his into the air. John pointed to him, “Yes?”

“Sir, it looked as though a protection shield was in place. But Snape didn’t cast a shield charm. Unless you did without us realising…”

“I did not,” John confirmed. “I’ll show you what happened. Here…”

He threw back the threadbare rug to reveal a large white circle chalked onto the wooden floor with various symbols drawn around the edges, a large pentagram adorning the centre. Minerva and the students at the back of the class strained their necks to get a better look at the mysterious sigil. John carelessly tossed the rug to the side of the classroom and looked apologetically at Sirius and James.

“I owe you two an apology,” he said, although he didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “There was no way your hex would have struck Severus while he was standing in this protective circle. I thought a practical demonstration was the best way to prove that. Now, protection circles have other useful applications. Watch closely - and whatever happens, don’t panic.”

Minerva’s hair stood on end at those words. This sounded ominous.

John approached the edge of the circle with his wand drawn. He closed his eyes and traced his wand in a wide circle through the air as he began to mutter an incantation, “Helon...Taul...Varf...Heon...Homonorium...Clemiach...Serucleth...Agla...Norfulthing, I awaken you.”

Some students yelped as a ball of purple fire burst into life in the centre of the protective circle. Minerva’s eyes widened in shock. What was John playing at?

“It’s alright,” John shouted over the cries of protest from the alarmed students. “You’re perfectly safe. Tetremmaton...Tasoly,..Osurmy...Dermusan...Norfulthing, attend me now.”

Suddenly, an enormous white dog erupted from the fire, landing gracefully on its huge, powerful paws. Its wild black eyes quickly fixed on John and it snarled, its coarse snow-white hair standing on end. Without warning it lept through the air towards John, its mouth stretched wide open, ready to kill. Its movement was so fast that the students, not even Minerva, had time to react. They could only scream…

CRUNCH.

The great beast only got as far as the edge of the protection circle before it hit an invisible barrier, head first. The dog bounced off of the barrier like it was a brick wall and yelped pitifully as it slid to the floor, dazed but no less angry. Several of the students had left their seats and fled to the back of the classroom, looking terrified. Severus, paralyzed by fear, had remained seated at his desk in the front row. His dark eyes wide with terror were fixed on the terrible beast as it stalked the circle back and forth, snarling and snapping its jaws angrily. John, however, watched the dog with an almost bored expression. It was nothing he hadn’t seen a hundred times before.

“As you can see, protection circles aren’t only excellent at repelling dark magic. They’re pretty effective at keeping dark magic contained,” he said loudly over the dog’s growls and barks. John approached the edge of the circle again and pointed his wand at the snarling beast.

“Akasha, mi geill mo prana ri sibh.”

The dog’s black eyes widened with fear and it howled as purple flames erupted over its whole body, consuming it entirely, and within seconds the beast was gone. A stunned silence followed this terrifying demonstration. John turned back towards his students and smiled.

“So, would anyone like to hazard a guess at what my specialism is?” he asked brightly. His demeanor was of someone who had merely asked his students to answer a simple arithmancy question, the fact that he had just summoned and dispelled a demonic canine within the last few minutes seemingly all but forgotten. Most of the students were too stunned to respond, still trying to process what they had just seen. Lily tentatively lifted her hand into the air, “I um...I think you’re an occultist, sir.”

“Correct,” he nodded curtly. “And did you recognise that creature I just summoned?”

“No sir,” she said, shaking her head. “But...was it a demon?”

John looked impressed, “It was indeed. A rather unpleasant fellow called Norfulthing. He’s actually an old friend of mine - you saw how pleased he was to see me, again. Not many wizards are familiar with the concept of demons these days, eh...sorry, what’s your name?”

“Lily Evans, sir.”

“Lily, you wouldn’t happen to be Muggle-born would you?”

“I am,” she replied with a note of defiance in her voice. She quickly drew Severus a scathing look before her eyes darted back to the professor.

“I thought so,” said John, nodding slowly. “Occultism is an ancient branch of magic that, interestingly, has remained a pervasive subculture amongst some Muggle communities, even as the Wizarding community has forgotten much of the practices and rituals. I first became interested in the occult as a child growing up in a Muggle town--”

“You’re Muggle-born too, sir?” Lily cut in. John turned to face her again but he didn’t look annoyed at the interruption.

“I am,” he confirmed. “You look surprised by that.”

Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “I thought...you said you were Slytherin, so I assumed…”

“That I was a pureblood?” he finished. Lily nodded. John proceeded to slowly pace back and forth in front of the students, “Severus, what are the common traits that Slytherins are said to possess?”

Severus looked startled at being addressed, his gaze still fixed on the circle where the giant dog had stood moments before, “Um...resourcefulness, ambition, cunning--”

“Being slimy gits,” muttered James, too quiet for John to hear him.

“Is there any mention of needing to be a pureblood to be accepted into Slytherin house?” asked John. Severus shook his head.

“No, sir.”

“Although Slytherin is famed as the house of purebloods, being pureblood isn’t a prerequisite,” John explained. “Muggle-borns aren’t often placed in Slytherin, but it’s not unheard of. There are plenty half-bloods there too, although I acknowledge that there is a reluctance amongst those Muggle-born and half-blood Slytherins to disclose their blood status to their fellow housemates. It’s pointless prejudice amongst racists and idiots, in my opinion.”

“But you didn’t?” asked Lily, her eyes darting towards Severus again. “You didn’t hide the fact that you were a Muggle-born from the other Slytherins? You weren’t ashamed of what you were?”

“Nope,” said John honestly. “I didn’t feel the need to hide what I was because I had nothing to prove to anyone else. And I didn’t feel the need to prove myself to anyone because I knew I was smarter than the majority of people here.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. Evidently, John’s arrogance hadn’t been tempered over the years. Even though he was correct in his assertion, it didn’t do well to brag about it.

“Anyway, I digress,” said John, waving his hand dismissively. “What was I talking about? Oh, yes - the occult! From the Latin word occultus, meaning ‘clandestine’, ‘knowledge of the hidden’...”

John spent the rest of the lesson describing the rich history of Occultism in Britain. He explained that the lesson plan for the next year would involve learning and mastering protection spells and sigils like the ones he had demonstrated at the beginning of the lesson. The students took plenty of notes during the lesson, eating up every word that John imparted to them. Even the Marauders had their heads down and quills out, scribbling away as John explained what each sigil on the protection circle symbolised and what effect they had. He also stressed the importance of applying what they learned beyond the classroom.

“The old adage preaches, ‘the best defence is a good offence’. Well, I say bollocks to that. Defence is the best defence, particularly in the current climate when there are nutters in pointed hoods running about doin’ in folk like myself. Unfortunately, you lot are living through some pretty tough times, and it’s my job to try and prepare you for what’s out there. Bravery is all well and good in fairy tales, but you won’t live long with a foolhardy attitude out there in the real world. Having a modicum of self-preservation isn’t cowardice, it’s smart. It’s being prepared. Defence Against the Dark Arts…” he stressed the words as he said them. “Learning to defend yourself on all fronts against those who would do you harm - our exploration of the occult this year will help you greatly in that regard. I want you not only to familiarise yourselves with this branch of magic, but to master it. Let me teach you what I know. Let me arm you with the tools that could one day save your life. Sound good? Alright, then. For our next lesson, I want you to read chapters one through four of Del Rabina’s The Grand Grimoire, paying particular attention to the creation of magical amulets. Do not repeat the incantations aloud! I don’t want you to miss your next class because you’re trapped in some dimension of Hell. Class dismissed.”

The students slowly filed out of the classroom, chatting excitedly amongst themselves about the lesson. Snape lingered, however, taking his time packing away his belongings until he and John were the only ones left - and Minerva, who unbeknownst to him remained hidden at the back of the class.

“Professor…” he began tentatively.

John put up his hand and Snape fell silent. “Before you ask me anything, do you mind if I smoke?”

Severus looked confused but shook his head, “Uh, no sir.”

Relieved, John pulled a carton of cigarettes from his back pocket, “Cheers.” Ignoring the hissing protests of Minerva, he lit up a cigarette with the tip of his wand. Taking a deep draw he closed his eyes and exhaled in a long sigh, white smoke pluming from his nose and mouth. “Mmm, sweet Merlin. I’ve been gagging for a fag all day. Ah! Where are my manners? You don’t smoke, do you?”

Minerva’s claws retracted, ready to sink into John’s leg if he gave a student a cigarette. Severus shook his head.

“No thank you, sir.”

John shrugged and pocketed the carton of cigarettes. Leaning against his desk he asked, “How can I help you, lad?”

Severus lifted his heavy bag back up onto his shoulder and said, “I just want to say that I thought your lesson was very...illuminating. It’s easily the best - and most terrifying one - I’ve ever had.”

John grinned, looking pleased with himself, “Thanks very much! I’m glad I made a positive first impression.”

“Yeah…” Severus looked uncertain about that, but he didn't want to argue with his professor on what constituted a positive first impression. “I was just thinking that, well... protection circles are all well and good if you want to trap something in them. And the circle obviously provided a lot of protection against spell attacks. But that’s not going to be much use if you’re anywhere outwith the classroom, is it? If you’re under attack, your opponent isn’t going to allow you time to draw out a protection circle, is he?”

John looked incredibly pleased, “I’m glad that you noticed that problem! I was wondering how long it would take for someone in the class to realise one of the major shortcomings of protection circles. To answer your question, are you interested in helping me with one more demonstration?”

He instructed Severus to stand in the protective circle again while he stood in the same spot James and Sirius had done at the start of the lesson.

“Draw your wand, bow, and on the count of three, attack me,” said John. Severus didn’t move.

“S-sir?” he stammered uncertainly.

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” John assured him. “Hit me with something that’ll knock me on my arse, yeah?”

“But you’re not armed,” Severus pointed out, frowning. John shrugged, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

“I know, I don’t need to be armed. Now, on the count of three…” Severus still looked uncertain. “I promise you won’t get into trouble, okay? One...two...three...go!”

“Flipendo!” Severus cried, slicing his wand through the air. Bright blue light shot out of the end of his wand and the spell - as it had done earlier - bounced away from John before it could touch him. Severus yelled and ducked, covering his head as the spell came hurtling back towards him, but it bounced off of the invisible shield around the protective circle, ricocheting across the classroom before hitting a faraway window and shattering the glass.

Severus looked from the broken window to John, shocked.

“How..?”

John answered by peeling off his robes and rolling up his shirt sleeves to reveal the same sigils drawn on the floor tattooed across his arms.

“Defence is the best defence,” he smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book that John references is a real text called The Grand Grimoire (also known as The Red Dragon) by Antonio Venitiana del Rabina.


	5. The Newcastle Incident

“Was frightening the students really necessary?” asked Minerva exasperatedly. 

“They’re going to face a lot scarier things in the real world than me, Minnie. I ought to prepare them for that,” John pointed out, taking a sip of his pint. Minerva rolled her eyes, partly at John’s insistence at using the informal nickname but more so at his dangerous antics during the class demonstration.

“I always knew you that had a flair for amateur dramatics, but that was ridiculous,” she chastised. 

John shrugged, “It got their attention, didn’t it? And yours…”

“I was more than willing to listen to a verbal explanation yesterday!” she argued. “That demonstration wasn’t necessary. You just wanted to show off.”

“Alright, I admit I enjoyed showing off a bit. But the kids are more likely to listen to me now,” he argued. “And if I hadn't scared you out of one of your nine lives, you wouldn't have agreed to come out to the pub with me, would you?”

They had moved their discussion from the classroom to The Three Broomsticks pub in Hogsmeade. Minerva had suggested it because it guaranteed them privacy to talk, but really she was in dire need of a strong drink to calm her nerves. She took a large gulp of her Gillywater cocktail and immediately felt some of the tension leave her body. She hadn't known what else she had expected from John’s first foray into teaching. He was a talented menace, charming and dangerous. His teaching style reflected that perfectly.

“While your teaching methods are...unorthodox, I must admit that the students seemed to respond well to it,” she admitted grudgingly. 

“That’s as close to a compliment as I’ll ever get from you, and I’ll gladly take it,” he smirked. 

“I take that enlisting Potter, Black and Snape was no coincidence, either?” she asked.

“Maybe…” he replied with a mischievous grin. “After watching them fight earlier this morning, I knew they wouldn’t hold back if I asked them to dual. And I suppose I see a lot of myself in them - James is a cocky little blighter, isn’t he?”

“Quite,” Minerva confirmed with a fond smile. “He’s too clever for his own good sometimes, but he’s a good student when he chooses to apply himself. You seem to have taken a real shine to Severus.”

“Yeah, he reminds me a lot of myself, actually,” he noted thoughtfully. “Another Northern lad, like me. Was it a Yorkshire accent I picked up?”

“I believe so,” Minerva nodded.

“He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s got raw talent there. He just needs to hone his skills,” said John taking another sip of his pint. “He seems quite an enthusiastic learner.”

“Perhaps a little too enthusiastic when it comes to the Dark Arts,” she muttered darkly.

“Hmm, maybe we have a little too much in common, then,” John relented. 

“And on that subject, are you finally going to tell me what that demonstration was all about?” she asked pointedly. “I take that the reason you’ve come back to Hogwarts is that you hope to find a particular book on Occultism.”

“Correct,” he confirmed. He took a protracted drink from his pint before speaking again. He looked uncomfortable at the prospect at being open and honest with Minerva, but he had promised to tell her what the hell was going on. He carefully placed the empty pint glass on the wooden table, avoiding her gaze.

“Did I ever tell you about the moment I realised I was a wizard?” asked John quietly. Minerva blinked. This wasn’t where she had expected the story to begin. Shaking her head, he gave her a wry smile, “When I was five, a boy came up to me and offered me my first cigarette. Only I knew he wasn't a boy; he wasn’t even human. He was something else.”

“A demon,” Minerva ventured. John nodded. 

“I could see through his glamour. I didn’t know what or who he was at the time, but I knew that he wasn’t from Liverpool, that’s for sure. Of course, the other kids couldn’t see what I could - they thought I was taking the piss - got a doin’ for it, as well, for telling fibs.”

“When you crossed paths with this demon, what did it do?” she asked, unable to hide the note of worry in her voice. John shrugged.

“I took the ciggie, smoked it and I never looked back,” he said breezily. “I imagine it amused him to no end to think he had sown the seeds of corruption in an innocent child. Well, up until he realised I’d nicked the entire packet off of him.”

Minerva snorted and suppressed a smirk. Evidently even as a bairn, John was a troublemaker, but this came as no real surprise. 

“I knew I was different, even then,” he continued. “I could see things that the other kids couldn’t. I was able to make strange things happen when I was upset or angry. It was as frightening as it was exciting. You already know I grew up in a Muggle town - in the working class suburbs, no less - I didn’t know about magic, didn’t grow up with it like a lot of the other kids at Hogwarts did, and Dumbledore didn’t come speak to me and my dad ‘til I was eleven. I had a long time to try and figure out things on my own. That’s when I started learning about the Occult.”

John pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Minerva out of habit, but she declined. He lit up his cigarette and took a long draw before continuing, “I learned all sorts of neat tricks growing up - summoning and healing charms, astral projection...protection spells came in handy when my dad decided to take one of his tempers out on me and my sister.”

“Oh, John…”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, love,” he said reassuringly. “The bastard’s been dead for years now. You know, one of the first acts of magic I ever learned was to hide all of my childhood innocence and vulnerability - I literally removed all of my weaknesses and put them in a wooden box, carved with sigils that I had learned in books, and I buried it.”

“Why would you do something like that?” she asked, her voice straining. She understood perfectly well why he had done it, but the mere thought that John as a small child felt compelled to do something like that broke her heart. John shrugged.

“I did it to protect myself,” he explained. He said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world to do. “It was for the best, it made my home life a lot easier to cope with. If I hadn’t found Occultism at such a young age, I wouldn’t have made it this far. It’s a fascinating branch of magic - you can create talismans that protect you and the ones you love or harm your enemies. You can summon, trap and entrance dark creatures, and make them do your bidding. Create portals to travel great distances, even into other dimensions. You can remove your weaknesses to make yourself stronger - you could remove your soul if you really wanted to - the possibilities are only limited to one’s imagination.”

Minerva shivered involuntarily. The thought of removing one’s soul was repugnant, “Who would want to do any of those things?”

“Death Eaters, for one,” he replied. “Anyway, I digress...of course, I was over the moon when I got my letter to Hogwarts - it was my ticket out of that hellhole and to a new life. I came here and I read every book available to me, learned every spell and potion that I could. I wanted to know everything. Still, the Occult remained a primary interest of mine - it was my roots to magic. I was forever sneaking books out of the Restricted Section to learn new spells and incantations, but I didn’t learn these things because I wanted to apply them in any meaningful way, I just wanted to be better than everyone else. I wanted to be more powerful than anyone else, and I was cocky enough to actually believe that I actually was.” 

John looked thoroughly miserable now. Minerva gently rested her hand on John’s arm, “What happened, John?”

“Newcastle happened,” he replied cryptically, still avoiding her gaze. “When I felt like Hogwarts had taught me everything it could, I left and set out on my own. I thought I had mastered everything there was to know about the Occult, learned everything that would ever be of use to me - I was so wrong. 

“My friends and I were gigging in the North East of England--”

“Mucous Membrane?” she interjected John gave her a weak smile and nodded.

“We were supposed to do a gig in some dump called The Casanova Club, but when we arrived, everyone in the club was dead.”

“Dead?” Minerva choked. 

“Murdered,” John confirmed. “Everyone was dead except for a little girl, Astra. The club was owned by her dad, Alex - he was the one who had booked us to play that evening. We asked Astra what the hell happened, and she told us that her bastard father been abusing her - his own daughter, for fuck sake - and pimping her out other perverts at the club. Well, turns out little Astra was like us, a young witch not yet in control of her powers of any kind of clue of what she was or how powerful. So desperate to escape her situation, she accidentally summoned a demon to protect her. A great white dog…”

“That monstrosity you summoned into the classroom?” asked Minerva, aghast.

“The very same,” he confirmed with a curt nod. “Without meaning to, she had summoned the beast and it had killed everyone in the club - no less than they deserved, in my opinion - but she had no clue as to how to send the bloody thing back. I couldn’t leave a demon dog on the loose, so I stepped in to help.”

John stubbed his cigarette out and immediately lit another one. He was quite fidgety as he spoke and Minerva wondered if smoking merely gave him something to do with his hands.

“I had everything set up correctly,” he said firmly. “The Talisman, the incantations, payment in blood...everything was done perfectly. Except…” John pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and was silent for a few moments, trying to compose himself. “I summoned the same demon that had taken an interest in me all those years ago, I thought it’d be amusing to trap him and have him do my bidding. I called him forth to kill the demon that Astra had invoked, and he did, he tore the damned thing to pieces. But I failed to name and bind him properly. I called forth Sagatana, but that wasn’t his true name, thus the invocation lacked the weight of magical imperative. A simple, terrible mistake on my part. One which cost that little girl her soul: the demon took Astra to hell with him as payment for killing the other beast.”

Minerva quickly withdrew her hand from John’s arm and covered her mouth, sure that she was going to be sick. All the colour had drained from John’s face. He roughly wiped the sweat from his brow and finally met Minerva’s gaze. His expression was stricken with shame and fear.

“I pleaded with the demon to take me instead, I was the one who had summoned him,” he said, almost pleadingly. “But he refused. I tried to bring her back, but…” 

John burst into fits of tears, drawing curious looks from patrons at the bar. Minerva watched him cry freely now, stunned at his shocking confession. John had been right - Minerva was better off not knowing the truth. It was too terrible to hear, too sickening to bear. 

“Does Dumbledore know all of this?” she asked hoarsely. John gave a weak nod. A wave of anger coursed through her again. Of course Dumbledore knew, he knew everything that happened at Hogwarts. “Knowing this, why would he ever agree to let you anywhere near the school?”

John roughly wipes the tears from his eyes, “Because despite everything, I’m good at what I do. Dumbledore needed someone to fill the position, the students need to learn, and I need access to the library for rare books that might help fix everything. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“How in Godric’s name is this fixable?” she asked angrily. “Trying to fix a problem is what got you into this situation in the first place!”

“I need to try!” he shouted. “For the last two years, that’s all I’ve done. If I need to commit every day for the rest of my life to setting this right, then I will. I need to fix this.” 

“You stupid, selfish, arrogant child,” she hissed. 

“I know, I know...” he groaned, covering his face in hands again. Minerva glared at John.

“So this book that you’re looking for, you’re hoping that it will...what? Help you rescue this child?” she asked, her voice brittle.

“Yes,” he nodded, his hands still covering his face, too ashamed to meet her gaze. “I’ve searched everywhere I can think of for a spell or incantation, anything to bring her back. The books in the Hogwarts library is my last hope.”

Minerva slumped back in her chair, feeling winded. John had always a penchant for trouble, but this was far beyond anything she thought he was capable of. 

“So, this is why you drink so much?” she sneered. “Because you feel guilty for what you’ve done?” John nodded. “Good,” she spat. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Your arrogance damned that little girl to Hell for no other reason than because you wanted to show off. A misdeed as great as this one...I fear it’s not just her soul you should be worried about, John.”

John shrunk into his seat, looking small, weak - probably a lot like the little boy from Liverpool who’d put his fears in a box and buried them into the ground. Despite her anger and disgust, she felt a pang of sympathy for the man. He was so young and talented, foolish and woefully misguided. He had only meant to help, and he had damned himself along with this child in the process. Minerva sighed. She suddenly felt very old and tired.

“The demon that took the child - do you know his true name?” she asked.

“Nergal,” he said the word with sheer venom. “Not that knowing his name makes much of a difference now, the bastard’s already dead - that’s a story for another time - so I can’t summon him and bargain for Astra’s release. To be honest, I don’t think he would have ever agreed to let her go, nothing was of greater value to him than tormenting me and Astra.”

“So she remains trapped in Hell?” she asked mournfully. “Lost?”

“Not if I can help it,” he said determinedly. 

“So what is your intention if you can no longer summon Nergal to release her?”

“Enlist the help of another demon,” he said. “I know it’s not ideal, but my options are pretty limited.”

Minerva hesitated a moment before saying, “The collection of books in the school library is quite extensive, it would easily take you a couple of years to search through all of them on your own.” John peered at her through his fingertips at her, his expression guarded but curious. Minerva continued, “Two pairs of eyes are more efficient than one; I can help you scour the library if you like.”

“You’d do that?” he asked, surprised. Minerva frowned.

“Of course I will,” she replied, although her tone was gentler than the expression she gave him. “We are colleagues. More importantly, the salvation of a child’s soul is at stake, therefore I will assist you in any way I can. And presumably, the sooner you find what you’re looking for, the sooner you’ll leave the school, yes?”

The tension in John’s shoulders eased a little and he nodded, “That’s right.”

“And spending time in each other’s company will make it that much easier to keep an eye on you,” she pointed out.

“Very true.”

“Then it is a mutually beneficial arrangement,” she reasoned. “Do you accept my offer of help?”

John looked contemplative for a few moments before he nodded in agreement, “Yes, I accept your offer.”

“Good. Well, as the old saying goes, there’s nothing like the present. We may as well head to the library now - unless you’re too inebriated?” she asked, arching a thin eyebrow at him. John shook his head vigorously.

“No, now is fine,” he assured her, his eyes still wide with surprise.

“Good,” she downed the last of her drink and slammed the glass hard on the table before rising to her feet. Without another word she turned on her heel and strode towards the pub exit. John quickly scrambled to his feet and hurried after her. He touched her elbow and she paused.

“Thank you, Professor. For your help,” he said quietly. “I really do appreciate it.”

She cleared her throat and replied briskly, “You’re very welcome, John. Just promise me that you’ll try and behave yourself while you’re here.”

“I will,” he promised. He even sounded sincere. Minerva sighed and shook her head, wondering how long his streak of good behaviour would last.


	6. The Pseudomonarchia Daedonum

With Nergal dead and Astra seemingly lost in Hell for all eternity, it became clear that their only hope was to persuade another demon to help them. It was risky, but they had little else to go on, and so their search of the Hogwarts library had begun.

As the months dragged by, Minerva and John slowly yet meticulously worked their way through the seemingly endless piles of books in the library’s Restricted Section. The sheer volume and variety of books on the Occult made her head spin - there were texts dedicated entirely to the practice of sex magic, Minerva had learned more than she ever wanted to from those books. There was a particularly fascinating one which taught the reader not only how to invoke demons, but angels and creatures from other dimensions. Fascinating, but dangerous in the wrong hands, she mused. This would probably be the sort of book that would pique young Severus’ interests and she made a mental note to hide it thoroughly after she was done reading it over. There were a lot of books dedicated to divination spells which purportedly allowed one to ‘see’ into the future, but Minerva tended to skim passed those. Some of the books were very disturbing - one included recipes for concoctions mixing blood, urine and other bodily fluids with opium to achieve various magical results. John thought it was fascinating while Minerva thought it was disgusting. Minerva almost threw in the towel when she picked up one book from the shelf and realised to her horror that it was bound in human skin. It had taken quite a bit of persuasion on John’s part to convince her to come back to the library to continue the search after that, but eventually she had relented.

Come Easter, they hadn’t made much more progress, but they remained optimistic that they would find something eventually. They had to keep positive under the circumstances - as far as John was concerned, this was his last chance to ‘set things right’. Minerva wasn’t sure that this situation could ever truly be put right, but she was more than willing to try - for John’s sake and the child’s.

Taking a moment to massage her sore neck she looked over at John, nose deep in yet another ancient tome. Every spare minute they had was dedicated to searching the library. More than once Minerva had retired late into the evening, too tired to take in another word, but John had remained a little longer, determined to check one more chapter before giving up for another evening. For all his faults, his endless drive to find a solution was admirable, his determination to succeed, infectious.

To Minerva’s immense surprise, John’s tenure at Hogwarts had passed without incident. Granted, John still drank more than she thought was good for him, and she still had to remind him every so often that he couldn’t smoke at the dinner table - she had even caught him on more than one occasion lighting up in a secluded corridor. The threat of detention with her only seemed to encourage him, so she relented and asked him at the very least not to get caught in the act by students.

That said, he had turned up to meals and all of his classes on time as promised, and the feedback from students had been very positive. She wasn’t surprised to hear that he was popular with the students - she wasn’t blind to John’s good looks or his charms - but it was evident from the from students improved class performance that he was, in fact, a good teacher.

“John…”

“Hmm?”

“Have you thought about what you’ll do with yourself after all of this?” she asked curiously. “If you succeed in rescuing Astra, what then?”

“I haven’t really thought that far if I’m honest,” he said stretching out his arms and yawning. “Why do you ask?”

“I know that you intend to leave once you have completed your mission, or have exhausted all of the library’s resources. But have you considered staying on?” she asked tentatively. John raised his eyebrows.

“You want me to stay?” he asked, surprised.

“Despite your unconventional style, I think you’re an excellent teacher,” she said firmly. “You do a lot of good here. If you have nothing else planned, why not consider it?”

John laughed and gave her an affectionate smile, “While I appreciate you complimenting my teaching ability - seriously, coming from you that is a massive compliment - I think we both know that I won’t be around to teach next year.”

Minerva frowned, “Why not?”

“Well, we all know the job’s cursed,” he shrugged.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she scoffed.

“Nobody’s lasted more than a year in the job for Merlin knows how many years - maybe since the school first opened,” John pointed out calmly. “I was well aware of the time limit and the possible dangers that came with taking the position of Defence Master, but the potential benefits outweighed the risk. I just hope that I survive long enough to find what I’m looking for. Tell me - are the staff still running the annual death pool?”

“How do you know about that?” she asked accusingly. John laughed.

“Slughorn is a terrible old gossip,” he explained. “He told me about it when I was at one of his parties in sixth year.”

Minerva frowned disapprovingly, “Of course you’d be in the Slug Club. You seem his type.”

“Yeah, well you don’t see my face on his little shrine of success, do you?” he smirked. “Who wants to brag about knowing a failed punk rocker and occultist?”

“Yes, you look quite bereft at your exclusion from his creepy wall of by proxy success,” she drawled. John snorted.

“I’ll learn to cope with the snub. So, how long do the other professors reckon I’ll last in the job?” he asked interestedly.

Minerva folded her arms then replied nippily, “Kettleburn thought you’d be gone by Christmas. Binns reckons you’ll hold out until after the Easter break.”

“And you?” he asked, leaning closer to her. “How long do you think I’ll last?”

“I thought you’d be gone by the end of the first week,” she smirked. John laughed.

“Well, I’m glad I proved you wrong.”

“As am I,” she replied truthfully. She picked up her book again and silence fell between them as the search continued. Her eyes scanned the illustration of a bearded man carrying a scythe. She rubbed her tired eyes and read the inscription underneath the drawing when she read something that made her gasp.

“John…” said Minerva tentatively. “I think I found something.”

“What’s that?” he asked distractedly. Minerva slid the ancient tome across the table to him. John took the book and his eyes narrowed as they flicked back and forth across the page. He began muttering the passage aloud to himself.

“Forcas - a Fallen Angel and thirty-first of the seventy-two Spirits of Solomon, he is a Mighty President that appeareth in the forme of a stronge man, and in humane shape, he--” John’s eyes widened in surprise. “He recovereth things lost, and discovereth treasures.” He looked up at her, his mouth slightly ajar.

“I don’t believe it,” he whispered. His face broke out into a wide grin. “Minnie, you beautiful, wonderful woman, you found it!” John clambered over the table and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, smothering her cheeks with kisses. Minerva hugged him back and laughed.

“Alright, that’s quite enough of that,” she giggled, blushing furiously. John finally released Minerva and sank back into his chair, hugging the book to his chest as though it were something precious. Minerva supposed it was precious to him - the book hopefully held the key to both he and Astra’s salvation.

John looked at the title of the book, “The Pseudomonarchia Daedonum,’” he read aloud. “A catalogue of the sixty-nine noble demons - prominent members of Hell’s monarchy. I didn’t think any copies of this were still in existence. After months of searching, I must admit I that was beginning to lose hope of ever finding an answer…” He gave Minerva a warm smile, his bright blue eyes shining with tears. “Yet here it is. Thank you, Minerva. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“So, what now?” she asked, unable to contain her excitement. “If this Forcas fellow can discover lost things, do you think he’ll be able to find Astra? How are we going to convince him to help us?”

“‘We’?” he joked, grinning mischievously at her. “Who said anything about ‘we’?”

“Don’t you shift me aside now, John,” she said warningly. “I’ve spent too many nights in this bloody library not to see this through to the end. So tell me, how are we going to persuade this git to help?”

“Well, based on the text, he seems quite amenable to persuasion by mortal men…” said John slowly, his head bowed over the book again. “He teacheth the Arts of Logic and Ethics in all their parts, blah blah blah...Hmm.” John snapped the book shut and grinned at her, “I may have an idea. But before we put our plan into action, I better clear away these books. Irma’s already threatened my life on more than one occasion for forgetting to put them back on the shelves.”

“Very wise, John. We can’t have members of faculty being barred from the library,” she smiled. “I’ll take our notes and I’ll meet you back in your office.”

John gathered an armful of books and disappeared from view between the bookshelves. Irma hadn’t been keen to let John back into the library. He’d already been barred in his sixth year because of the number of books he had ‘borrowed’ from the Restricted Section. She had only relented when Minerva had promised to supervise him at all times.

Minerva gathered the last of their notes and was about to leave the library when she paused. A chill ran up her spine as she heard the unmistakable sound of someone crying. She discarded her books and parchment on the desk and hurried in the direction of the crying.

“John?” she called out. No answer. She weaved through the labyrinth of bookshelves, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. Panic began to rise in her - why wasn’t he answering? Then she heard a sudden, piercing scream and she broke out into a run with her wand drawn, the cries growing louder as she drew nearer.

She turned a corner and she gasped at the sight before her. A little girl stood with her back to Minerva, she couldn’t have been any older than seven or eight. Her entire body was engulfed in yellow flames and she was shrieking in pain.

“Help me, John! Help me! Why did you leave me?”

John sat crouched on the ground, the books he had been carrying strewn across the ground where he had dropped them. He had his hands over his head, sobbing and groaning pitifully, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

It took Minerva a few seconds to realise what was going on. She strode towards the little girl, grabbed her by the shoulder and forced her to face her instead. The child looked up at Minerva and she stopped screaming, her big brown eyes wide with fright. Very quickly, her appearance began to change - the flames were extinguished and her body stretched until she was a head taller than Minerva, the face transforming from a pretty little girl into a pale, snake-like figure. Suddenly, Lord Voldemort stood over Minerva, his red eyes glinting dangerously. He hissed and reached out to grab her…

“Riddikulus,” she cried and the terrifying, looming spectre of the Dark Lord began to shrink, growing smaller and smaller until he was miniscule in size. Minerva smirked at the miniature Voldemort waving its tiny fist angrily at her, slashed her wand through the air again and the Boggart was gone in a puff of smoke.

John remained cowered on the ground, shaking. Minerva knelt down beside him and gently rested a hand on his shoulder and he jumped at the slight contact. His gaze remained fixed on the place where the flaming child had stood tormenting him only moments before.

“It was a Boggart, John,” Minerva explained gently. “Dark, confined spaces like these narrow shelves in the library are the perfect place for them to hide. But it’s gone now, alright? I got rid of it.”

“Astra’s burning,” John stammered. “She’s burning and it’s all my fault.”

“The boggart is merely a manifestation of your greatest fears,” she reminded him more firmly. “It wasn’t real.”

“It was,” he replied in a shaky voice. “That’s what’s happening to her right now and it’s all my fault. All my fault…”

“You are going to fix this,” she assured him, tightening her grip on his shoulder. “You’re going to bargain with this demon and you’re going to rescue her. The longer we sit here, the longer she’s stuck there.”

John closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to calm himself. He nodded vigorously and struggled back to his feet, still a little shaky but focused on the task at hand. Minerva helped him to his feet and patted him on the arm.

“Come now,” she sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books referenced in this chapter:
> 
> \- The Satanic Bible by Anton Szandor LaVey (that one details rituals for sex magic)
> 
> \- The Complete Picatrix: The Occult Classic of Astrological Magic (that's the one that suggests mixing bodily fluids with opium. Lovely.)
> 
> \- The Pseudomonarchia Daedonum by Johann Weyer (also known as 'False Monarchy of Demons', this is the book where they find references to the demon, Forcas). 
> 
> \- The Necronomicon Ex-Mortis (also known as 'The Book of the Dead' and 'Naturom Demonto' is the book bound in human skin. It's the only fictitious book referenced, it's actually from one of my all-time favourite movies The Evil Dead. I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to include it!)


	7. The Casanova Club

“Are you sure this will work?”

“No.”

“Is there any other alternative?”

“No.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

The plan seemed simple enough. They would summon the demon Forcas and negotiate the release of Astra from Hell. They hoped they had something of value that would persuade them to help. If not...well, it would be back to the drawing board. John felt that the best place to perform the summoning ceremony was to return to where the whole thing had started - The Casanova Club.

It took them a couple of days to gather everything that they needed for the ceremony, and so it was on the first night of the Easter holidays that they walked to the perimeter of Hogwarts before Apparating to the outskirts of Newcastle where the fated club once stood. When their feet hit solid ground, they looked up nervously at where the old nightclub once stood, now a burnt out shell of rotting black wood and covered in weeds. 

“What happened here?” she asked, unable to disguise the fear in her voice. The building looked in danger of collapsing in on itself. John shrugged and lit a cigarette, the flickering light splashed onto his face, illuminating it momentarily to reveal his grave expression before being shrouded in darkness once more. 

“Dunno, kids probably burnt it down. It won’t affect the ceremony, though,” he gave Minerva a hard look. “You don’t need to do this, Minnie. I can manage on my own.”

Minerva huffed irritably and marched towards the ruined club. John smirked and crushed the cigarette butt under his heel before following her into the darkened heart of the building. They didn’t have to worry about gaining access to the building as someone had kindly torn the front door from its hinges. As they stepped over the threshold they both drew their wands and cast the Wand-Lighting charm, bathing the dark, dank interior in pale white light. 

Minerva followed John as they carefully walked through the crumbling building, side-stepping fallen timber and broken furniture. 

“Where are we going to do this?” she whispered. She knew that they were alone, but she wanted to leave as little impression here as possible. Everything about this place - the charred walls, the sodden, rotten floorboards, the damp air - felt tainted.

“The basement,” he replied quietly, nodding towards a set of stairs at the end of the corridor. “This way…”

They carefully made their way down into the basement, pitch black and silent. Minerva shivered, pulling her cloak closer to her neck, a combination of the cold night air and nerves. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was frightened. The more that she had learned of the Occult, the more she disliked the practice, but her determination to see this through to the end never wavered. 

They made quick work laying out candles - some for light and others for purposes of ceremony - and began inscribing the necessary sigils on the damp ground. Chalk wouldn’t suffice this time so John used Thestral blood to paint two large circles in the centre of the basement. Minerva didn’t ask where he had managed to procure such copious amounts of blood on such short notice, instead concentrating on distributing salt over the cursed ground, muttering incantations of protection as she did so. Neither of them spoke as they prepared the space for the ceremony, there was nothing else to say. Minerva just wanted this over with.

When everything was ready, John began to disrobe. Kicking off his shoes he tossed them into the far corner of the room along with his socks, trench coat, shirt, and tie. Minerva cast a furtive glance over John’s torso which like his arms was covered in Occult tattoos. She would have thought they were beautiful if she weren’t now so well-versed in their true meanings.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked for what felt like the hundredth time. He gave her a warm smile.

“Let’s just hope it does.”

“And if it doesn’t?” she implored. 

“I’ll worry about that when I need to,” he sighed. He pulled her into a tight embrace and she hugged him back, afraid to let him go. She could feel his heart rapidly beating through his chest. Despite his cool composure, he really was afraid. He’d be a bloody fool if he weren’t. John pulled away and rubbed her shoulder reassuringly, “You cast the first spells to strengthen the protection circle, then I’ll summon Forcas.”

Minerva slowly walked around the two circles muttering incantations under her breath, tracing her wand through the air in a figure of eight. John knelt in the centre of the first circle, facing the other one, lifted a small dagger from the ground and pressed the blade into the palm of his hand. He winced as the blade pierced his flesh and he collected the blood in a small wooden quaich. When the cup was half full he lifted the cup into the air and began to recite the incantation that would invoke the demon Forcas.

“Helon...Taul...Varf...Heon...Homonorium...Clemiach...Serucleth...Agla...Forcas, I awaken you,” he called, dipping his index and middle fingers into the still-warm blood and running the sticky red liquid across his own forehead. Minerva averted her gaze, ignoring the queasy feeling in her stomach and concentrated on repeating her own protective incantations. 

Tetremmaton...Tasoly,..Osurmy...Dermusan...Forcas, attend me now,” said John a little more firmly. The candles flickered ominously and the room seemed to grow even darker, unnaturally so. It reminded Minerva of whenever a Dementor was nearby...

“Atalslym...Asophiel...Ilnosteon...Baniel...Ihalva…” John clamped his eyes shut and cried. “Forcas, I conjure thee, appear!”

Still, nothing happened. John peered out of one eye and his shoulders sagged.

“C’mon, you bastard, where are you?” he shouted.

“John!” Minerva hissed. John slammed the quaich onto the cold stone floor causing some of the blood to spill over the sides. He clambered back onto his feet, his hands clenched in tight fists by his side. 

“The tricky bastard’s playing hard to get,” he grumbled. Raising his wand into the air and. “Forcas, by the names of your lords, Lucifer, Beelzebub, Belial, attend me now, or else I’ll--”

“Or else you’ll what, John?” came a booming, unearthly voice. Minerva gasped and instinctively pointed her wand at the large figure that had appeared in the second circle. John, however, lowered his wand and pulled his cigarettes out of his back pocket.

“Well, it’s about bloody time,” he muttered. Minerva squinted in the low light of the room to better discern the features of the demon before her. He looked human in form, only much larger. The only person she’d met with a similar size and physique was the Hogwarts groundskeeper, Hagrid. Forcas took a tentative step forward and raised his large palm into the air, but it didn’t extend beyond the edge of the protective circle. He lowered his hand by his side and frowned at John.

“John Constantine,” he said slowly. “Your reputation precedes you. Not many mortal men would be foolish enough to summon me." 

“Yeah, well I’m about as dumb and cocky as they come,” John smirked. “I’m not here to cause you trouble, chum. I’ve a small favour to ask.”

Forcas laughter boomed and reverberated against the basement walls, “You summon me to your realm, trap me then have the gall to ask favours? Not only are you arrogant, you are also stupid.”

“Not going to argue with you on that,” he conceded, flashing a quick smile in Minerva’s direction. “But I think I have something that may be of interest to you.”

Forcas snorted, “And what could a mere mortal have that would be of any interest to me?”

Minerva swished her wand through the air and a large book levitated towards the demon, coming to rest at the edge of the protective circle so that he could see it but not touch it. The manuscript was almost three feet high and weighed 169 pounds. The demon’s eyes widened and he knelt down better to see the ancient tome. He looked up sharply at John.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded. John smirked. As he had predicted, the demon was definitely interested.

“Borrowed it,” he lied, taking a protracted draw from his cigarette before speaking again. “Found it hidden in the Vatican vaults, silly buggers didn’t know what they had in their possession. It’s rumoured to contain all human knowledge. Yeah, I thought that might interest you.”

“Perhaps…” said Forcas slowly rising to his feet again. “What do you want in return?”

“What do I want in exchange for all human knowledge contained in a single text? Not much,” he shrugged. “Just a human soul.”

Forcas frowned, “That is no small request.”

“It’s a fair exchange,” John argued. “Hell’s bursting at the seams with damned souls, giving up one isn’t going to make much difference, is it?”

“Hell is infinitely vast, its tortured inhabitants innumerable. How do you expect me to find one pitiful soul amongst so many?”

“Don’t play coy with me, chum,” said John warningly. “‘He recovereth things lost…’ Lost souls would fall under that category, would it not?”

Forcas chuckled, “Very good, John. Yes, I can find lost souls, but whether or not I help you is dependent on the soul that you seek. So pray tell me, who do you wish to save from eternal damnation?”

“A child,” said John. “Astra Logue.”

“No,” said Forcas immediately. “You cannot have her.”

“Why not?” asked John angrily. 

“A child of tortured heart is too exquisite to trade, even for all of man’s knowledge,” he explained. “Losing the Codex Gigas is unfortunate, but tormenting the child will ease me through eternity.”

John was beginning to panic. He looked around the room desperately for inspiration, “W-what if I give you something else?”

Minerva felt a stab of panic. They had agreed if the demon had refused the trade then they would banish him back to Hell and resume their search of the library in the hopes of finding another more amenable demon. John, however, was going off-script. What was he doing?

“And what have of equal or greater value to that of a child’s tormented soul?” asked Forcas flatly. 

“Nothing,” John admitted. “Nothing but my soul.”

Minerva gasped, “John, you can’t be serious.”

“Your soul?” said Foras interestedly. “You would give it up so willingly? For the salvation of one other?”

“Yes,” said John firmly. “I would.”

“John, this is madness!” Minerva shouted. “You can’t do this!”

Forcas laughter cut across Minerva’s cries of protest, “Your soul is worthless, it is damaged beyond repair. It cannot compare with that of an innocent child. Besides, your soul is already damned to Hell, I would only be taking what is already mine.”

“Why wait decades when you can take me now?” John offered. 

“A few decades is nothing to me,” Forcas sneered.

“But wouldn’t you love to be the one who dragged me to Hell?” said John. “I’ve caused your lot quite a lot of trouble over the years, you’d get a hero’s welcome if you came back with me.”

Forcas bared his teeth in a wide grin, “Very true.”

“So do you accept my terms?” asked John. “Exchange Astra for me?”

Forcas gave a curt nod, “Deal.”

“John, stop this madness at once!” Minerva yelled. “I know you’re desperate, but there must be another alternative. You cannot throw away your life so willingly!”

“This is the only way,” he replied grimly. “Believe me, I’m not exactly keen on giving up my mortal soul to this prick, but I checked every other possible alternative. This is the only way to save Astra.”

Minerva gaped at him, “You knew from the very beginning that you would do this, didn’t you? And you’ve made me party to it!”

“I told you that you wouldn’t want to know what I was doing,” he countered. “I’m sorry, Minnie.”

Minerva couldn’t let him do this. She wouldn’t. She rushed forward, determined to put a stop to this madness, but as she reached the edge of the protection circle she crashed into an invisible forcefield. She staggered backward a few steps and looked pleadingly at John. He gave her a sad smile.

“Protection circles,” he shrugged. “Just as effective for keeping things out as they are for keeping things in.”

Forcas held out his hand to John, “Take my hand and the contract will be sealed.”

“John!” Minerva cried, beating her fists helplessly against the forcefield. “Don’t do this!”

Drawing her one last longing look, John turned away from her, reaching out of the circle and grasped Forcas’ outstretched hand tightly. Immediately fire erupted across John’s arm and he snarled, his face contorted in pain. Forcas sighed happily.

“Oh John, your fear is intoxicating, you wear it like a second skin,” he simpered. “Then again, your skin would make a fine coat to wear, too. Come now, I have such wondrous delights in store for you…”

“Shut up and let’s get this over with!” John snapped before he let out a blood-curdling scream of pain. The fire quickly spread and his entire body burst into flames. Minerva screamed too, unable to intervene. As the fire grew brighter, Minerva had to shield her eyes, the shrieks of pain and roar of the flames were deafening. Then just as suddenly, the screaming stopped. Smoke and the putrid smell of sulfur filled her nostrils and she gagged, choking. Minerva lowered her shaking hands away from her face. John and the demon were gone. The only thing in place of where they had stood moments before was a black scorch mark on the ground and a small figure that lay slumped on the floor. 

Minerva crawled on her hands and knees towards the figure and let out a cry of exhilaration and pain as she recognised the blonde hair of Astra Logue, unconscious, but miraculously alive. Minerva pulled the little girl into her arms and cradled her back and forth, tears streaming down her cheeks, at a total loss and what she should do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book referenced in this chapter is The Codex Gigas (English translation, 'Giant Book'. Created in the early 13th century by a Benedictine monk who supposedly sold his soul to the Devil).


	8. Heart Shaped Box

Dumbledore removed his half-moon glasses and sighed, rubbing his tired his. Every year without fail, the professors appointed to the position of Defence Master would be gone within the year. Some had been accidents, of course - falling down the Grand Staircase and breaking their neck. Getting whomped if they strayed too close to the Whomping Willow. There were, of course, the strange occurrences that were less easy to explain - one Professor had been absorbed by a malignant painting and had been trapped as one of the many school portraits ever since. Another had even been dragged into the Black Lake and drowned by the Giant Squid. But never in his many years as either Headmaster or a teacher at Hogwarts had a teacher been sucked through a fiery portal into Hell.

He slipped his glasses back on and looked at Minerva who sat across from his desk, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She clenched John’s trench coat tightly in her lap, refusing to relinquish the item to anyone. It was all that was left of the boy she had chastised and admired and grown to care for as both a colleague and a friend.

“I’ve just been contacted by the Head Healer at St. Mungo’s,” said Dumbledore. “She tells me that Astra is now awake. While she is physically weak, she is responding well to treatment and she will make a full recovery. The psychological trauma won’t be evident until she is properly evaluated.”

Minerva sniffed loudly and brushed away her fresh tears with the sleeve of her robe, “She’s been in Hell for two years, Albus. Nobody could come out of that place undamaged.”

“She will have scars, but her soul is intact,” he replied firmly. “She can now begin the healing process, but she will need the support of loved ones to help her along the way.”

“She doesn’t have anyone,” said Minerva bitterly. “Her family is dead - good riddance to them for what they did to that poor girl. But she is alone. What will happen to her? She can’t just stay in hospital for the rest of her life.”

“I will see that she gets the proper care that she needs,” he assured her. “She will have a proper Guardian or family is appointed to care for her.”

Minerva nodded mutely. Dumbledore was a man of his word, she trusted what he said wasn’t empty promises. She cleared her throat and asked, “Did she say anything when she woke up?”

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “She asked for John.”

Even hearing John’s name felt like a physical blow and a fresh wave of grief and shame crashing over her. She stared at the worn brown trench coat, lamenting everything that she could have done everything to prevent this situation, but drawing a blank.

“He was the only one who ever cared for her,” she choked. “Now he’s gone, too. Part of that is my doing for agreeing to go along with his follied plan.”

“The cost was high - perhaps too high - but that was ultimately John’s choice to make,” said Dumbledore gravely. “From what you have told me, he seemed intent on following through with his plan regardless. I do not think there was anything you could have said or done to convince him to take another path. John was stubborn to a fault, not unlike some professors he was so fond of.”

Minerva gave a weak laugh and subtly wiped away her tears again, “I know you’re right, Albus. But it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”

“I know,” he sighed miserably. “Guilt is something I am intimately familiar with, Minerva. It is something that you must learn to carry with you, and learn from it as best you can, to not repeat the mistakes of the past.”

Minerva said nothing. His words weren’t comforting but at least they were honest.

“I think it is worth noting that John was not the only one to care for the child’s well being,” Dumbledore added. “Have you not just spent the better part of a year searching the library for ways of rescuing Astra?”

“Well, that was to help John,” she shrugged. “And to help her too, of course. She’s just a child, after all, she needed my help.”

“Then perhaps Astra isn’t so alone after all,” he said thoughtfully. “Would you like me to arrange for you to see her in the hospital?”

Minerva only had to consider it a moment before she made up her mind, “Yes, I’d really appreciate that. Thank you, Albus.” Minerva began to rise from her seat, but Albus held out a hand to stop her.

“Before you go, I have something for you,” he opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a roll of parchment and a small wooden box. Minerva took the proffered items and turned the box over in her hand, inspecting it closely. It was old and worn with dirt ingrained in the wood. It looked as though someone had recently unearthed it. She looked up curiously at Dumbledore.

“What is this?”

“John came to me a couple nights ago and gave these items to me,” he explained. “He refused to tell me what his plans were, but he made me promise that if anything went wrong, I was to pass these items on to you."

“Oh,” she replied weakly, glancing down at the box again. Dumbledore rose to his feet.

“I will give you some privacy to read the letter. Please, take your time,” he said gently. As he passed, he gently rested his hand on her shoulder, “I am sorry about John. He was a fine man.”

Minerva nodded vigorously, too choked up to reply. She waited until Dumbledore had left the office before she sat the box down on the desk and picked up the scroll. Breaking the wax seal on the parchment, she unfurled it to read the message within:

 

_Dearest Minnie,_

  _If you are reading this, then I must be in deep shit._

 

Minerva couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the vulgarity. It was strangely comforting to her that he wrote as he spoke…

 

_If I’m guessing correctly, I’m in Hell at the moment. If that’s the case, DO NOT TRY AND GET ME OUT. I’ll be fine. Believe me, I’ve been in stickier situations than this one before. Besides, it’s not worth putting your life on the line for mine._

  _I only hope that we succeeded in our mission. If not, smash that box that Dumbledore handed to you immediately, because it doesn’t deserve to be intact otherwise. If Astra is safe with you, could you tell her that I’m sorry for everything? I don’t expect her to forgive me, I’d never ask it of her. But please let her know how hard I tried to bring her back._

  _I also owe you an apology. I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I’ve always been really fond of you, even during my school days when you would burst my bollocks about smoking and dogging class, you were always fair and told me how much potential I had (even if I did squander most of it). When I came back to school to teach, you were a constant source of help and reassurance. Thank you for your friendship, it will always mean the world to me._

  _Unfortunately, I seem to be doomed to hurt those I care for the most. I don’t expect you to forgive me, either. I caused you a lot of trouble this year, and you lost the death pool because of me into the bargain. I jest! I know you didn’t really place a bet, you’re too damn classy to partake in something so macabre._

  _As a small token of our friendship, I gift you something I have never entrusted with anyone before. You remember when I told you as a child I hid my childhood innocence in a wooden box? Well, here it is. I went back to Liverpool over the Christmas break to search for the damn thing. It took me a couple of days to find it, but it’s remained in one piece even after all of these years._

  _I want you to have it, Minnie. The last good part of me. I may be in Hell, and the bastards may have my soul, but there is at least one part of me that they’ll never have._  

_Take care of Astra for me. And take care of yourself._

 

_All my love,_

  _John_

 

Minerva felt numb. The letter slipped from her fingers onto the floor and she carefully picked up the small wooden box from the desk, staring at it with a mixture of relief and sadness. It was a comfort of sorts that something of John - the best part of him - lived on. It was a beautiful, tragic gift. She hugged it close to her heart and let the tears flow freely again. The wood felt warm in her hand, and she sure that she could feel the best of John radiating out from it.


End file.
